The Invincible Full-Moon System Chapter 1798: Crazy Man

Day after day, Haxel fled without pause.

Though he labeled it as mere travel, it served just to ease the tight ache in his heart.

His betrayal of Morgana turned him into an outlaw, so he bolted away as quickly and distantly as he could.

Should anyone question why he fled, he'd claim it was due to his status as a fugitive, yet the real motive lay elsewhere. Deep down, he escaped from Rex. The menace in Rex's words chilled him to the core, urging every fiber of his existence to flee.

And flee he did, the moment Princess Davina arrived in an attempt to save Rex, jolting him out of his daze.

He dashed off right after her appearance.

Glancing back once from a mile away, a agonized cry reached his ears.

Rex is gone.

The princess's wail surely indicated that the Immortal Slugs had pulled him into the depths of Hell.

As long as he dodged the officials, everything would turn out alright for him.

Just the royal knights truly unnerved him, and their numbers remained few.

Exiting the empire posed no real challenge.

He aimed to slip into the adjacent dynasty, but acquiring the necessary supplies required aid, and one individual came to mind who might assist. A shadow seemed to trail him. Or so he sensed, at least.

This sensation stirred discomfort in him. Dread. Yet it stemmed merely from his imagination.

Simply harmless illusions his thoughts conjured to maintain his vigilance.

Rex is finished, and that's the end of the matter.

No one had ever escaped the grasp of the Immortal Slugs. Not a single soul.

The instant he tumbled into that chasm marked his doom.

Yet the world demonstrated to Haxel that exceptions always emerge for any rule.

At a bubble transit point, sheets of leather parchment began falling like rain.

Etched upon them was an official royal edict concerning the traitor, accompanied below by a enchanted sketch of a figure.

A figure who instilled paralyzing terror in Haxel, even via the mere illustration.

Rex.

He survives.

Had Princess Davina truly witnessed his demise, she would have announced it.

However, this document confirmed beyond doubt that Rex lived and thrived.

'Flee to the world's edges. Escape to distant realms if you must; it changes nothing.'

An echo resounded like a caution from deep within his psyche.

Those were Rex's final words, uttered just before the slugs yanked him under.

'I'll pursue you relentlessly. I'll shred your form... extract your heart.'

"Can you speed this up?" Haxel demanded, yanking the driver's shoulder—while scanning the surrounding pitch blackness. Now aboard a lengthy sled crafted wholly from vital energy, he traversed the vastness of the Black Rift.

From afar, it resembled a snake.

Yet rather than gliding, it shot ahead like a projectile.

A novice Seeker offered this transport, the sole viable route to the target bubble. Drifting in this zone proved perilous. Swarms of voidal mosquitoes, each as large as a broad palm, infested the area.

Not overly dangerous, merely Voidal Pawns.

But their hordes reached millions, and in sufficient numbers, their poison might fell a Master Immortal Spirit—or worse, an Eternal Spirit under dire conditions. Sticking near the terrain offered the best safety.

"What's the hurry? You some kinda royalty? Can't go quicker," the Seeker muttered irritably, already second-guessing his choice to ferry this oddball. "Ten minutes left. So settle and quit yappin’. My grip's busy enough."

Haxel held the rank of esteemed knight.

Commanding charges at the vanguard felt familiar to him. He ought to handle such scenarios with ease.

But circumstances had shifted now.

The mounting worry overwhelmed him; he craved only to abandon the empire behind.

Aooouuu—!

"What was that?!" Haxel whipped his head sideways.

His gaze locked onto a squat peak, perhaps one or two miles distant. Its crest bore a hollowed depression, as though a colossal being had chomped its peak. And atop it, enormous arched rods pulsed with intermittent glows.

"Pack of Blind Voidal Wolves," the Seeker explained, waving it off casually. "They team up with the mozzies in some symbiotic deal. Wolves sniff out prey, bring it low—bugs get their meal. Now park yerself and ease up. All's fine."

Such occurrences repeated along the journey.

Haxel demanded details on every sound, or he'd lose his mind.

It grated so much that the Seeker vowed never to haul strange passengers again.

Yet as the Seeker noted, no threats materialized. Haxel reached his stop without incident. This modest, secluded bubble supported scarcely ten thousand inhabitants. Miners dominated the populace, and the foggy atmosphere hung heavy with fumes billowing from innumerable smokestacks dotting the confined, vaulted skyline.

The Seeker snatched the payment from Haxel's grasp brusquely and spun away at once.

He refused to linger even a moment longer with Haxel.

Haxel paid no mind, hurrying along the avenue while shrouding his face beneath the cowl.

He carried solely funds, nothing else.

No items in his possession or upon his back.

Replacements could be purchased for most belongings, but not for his survival, so retrieving possessions from home held no appeal.

Given the bubble's tiny scale, the sheer edge gleamed visible from the street's center. It rattled him deeply. His thoughts conjured lurking, clutching forms in the warped murk outside, spurring quicker steps.

With the firm knowledge of Rex's survival, each fancied presence in the external void seemed all too vivid.

As if a pursuer truly shadowed him.

"AAHH!!"

A cry burst from his throat as he crumpled to the earth.

Gazes swiveled in his direction.

He jabbed a finger toward the boundary, eyes bulging in terror, mouth trembling without control.

"There's something out there! Something out there! It's Rex! Rex!!"

Folks pivoted to peer at his indicated spot, dreading an assault by Voidal Monsters, yet spotted nothing. Merely drifting obscurity lay past the bubble. It frustrated many, as Haxel stirred baseless panic among them.

"W-Where's this bubble's leader?" He clutched a bystander's wrist. "Where's the governor?!"

"Back off, nutcase." The fellow wrenched free and shoved Haxel with a boot to the arm.

Haxel staggered rearward, though fury surged within him swiftly.

"I'm an honorable Knight! How dare you handle me like this!"

"Sure you are. Keep dreaming, madman."

Like a mendicant pleading for coin, Haxel approached one after another, insisting the vision beyond was genuine. That a presence truly lurked outside. That a stalker truly dogged his steps. No one credited his words.

In truth, his persistent efforts only deepened suspicions of his madness.

Even nearby sentries approached, warning they'd expel him.

Only then did he cease, resuming his path with a bitter, mocking chuckle at the disbelief he faced.

"I truly spotted something..."

Merely weeks prior, he stood as an admired knight, with nearly a hundred apprentices aspiring to emulate him.

Today, he ranked as an escaped criminal and a raving fool.

He grasped that fortune's cycle spun ceaselessly. Periods elevated him to heights, while others plunged him to lows. Yet this plunge felt unnatural. More like a brutal twist of fate, yanking him from prominence and hurling him into ruin.

A bitter draught to gulp, yet gulping it remained his sole recourse.

Before a modest dwelling's entrance, Haxel halted.

His knuckles hovered by the portal, wavering before rapping to confront the occupant within.

'He'll despise me for demanding repayment, but the debt binds him still.' Haxel exhaled heavily.

The fellow he sought was Arran, the apprentice he'd once mentored and nurtured. Now maimed and barred from knightly pursuits, the resentful Arran reinvented himself as an outlaw—and rose to rule the bubble's underworld.

An unworthy existence, yet preferable to utter idleness.

For that longstanding obligation—the shelter, the instruction, the squandered opportunity—Haxel now sought aid.

In exchange for his past guidance, he required assistance presently.

Approaching for support shamed him, but it offered his lone shot at departing the empire undetected.

Upon his initial tap, the entrance groaned ajar unexpectedly.

Haxel scowled and nudged it broader, peering inside to inspect.

Silence prevailed.

The passage lay dim and quiet, though a faint glow seeped from the presumed kitchen area.

Occupancy was evident.

At this late hour, Arran likely drowned in liquor and sprawled unconscious nearby.

Decades past his active days, he no longer qualified as knight material in any regard.

Haxel, his dignity fragile, opted against further knocks. Instead, he muted his presence and entered stealthily, advancing with quiet purpose in hopes of locating sellable valuables. Pilfering beat the degrading exchange.

And truly, did it count as theft when reclaiming from a rogue to begin with? Hardly.

He proceeded to the kitchen.

It gleamed spotless. Impeccably so, given Arran's abode.

Haxel dismissed the oddity and scoured the cupboards upon finding no one.

Arran's peculiarities meant treasures hid in quirky spots.

Yielding naught, he pivoted toward the lounge but paused as his sight snagged on a chest—an unusual one positioned almost centrally on the kitchen surface. Intrigued, he unlatched it and jerked back at the reveal of an internal organ.

A heart.

Immaculately pristine, orderly, and vibrant.

Not a trace of crimson marred the container.

Haxel toppled utensils while fixating on the vivid organ.

Something felt amiss, and he lunged for the exit on impulse.

But upon gaining the corridor, he beheld the portal engulfed in coiling obscurity.

An unfamiliar force enveloped it.

He battled to break through—expending his vital energy against the gloom, unleashing his utmost power upon it. Yet the darkness formed an impenetrable barrier. Regardless of his efforts, it held firm—timeless and steadfast like unyielding stone, forged over ages and resistant to his rage.

Bang—!

"Come on!" Haxel bellowed in exasperation.

At the noise of an impact, he whirled and fixed on the steps.

Presence stirred on the upper level, descending toward the ground floor.

"Looks like an unwelcome visitor," a woman's voice reverberated across the home. Potent. Eerie. The tone stiffened every fiber in Haxel's frame. "He never mentioned awaiting guests."

A dim figure of a female appeared and descended.

She paused upon reaching the base, regarding Haxel with an inscrutable stare.

"W-wait!" Haxel raised his palms, the woman's presence bearing down with immeasurable weight. She outmatched him, undoubtedly. Whichever foe Arran had provoked, entertaining victory against her proved idiotic. "I'm just passing through. I won't breathe a word—I scarcely know him. Let me leave."

His glance darted to Arran. Or his remains.

The woman hauled his body by the scalp, single-handed, accounting for the strange, weighty thumps resounding through the passage. Not strides, but the limp bulk of a deceased form tumbling down the risers like a meat-filled pouch.

Haxel bore burdens aplenty already.

No call to invite further peril.

But the woman merely grinned.

"I'm not after him," she stated, hoisting the remains aloft. Then, her focus shifted back to Haxel. A glint of crimson lurked in her depths. "I'm after you."